Saturation
by abubi-chan
Summary: Sometimes life needs a little saturation to get a little of that boredom out of your mind. Or at least their minds, anyway. Different stories, one couple. TOFUU
1. Reasons

**Author's Notes: Okay, I know I've been such an ass lately for the un-updated fics but I really wanted to do this for a long time. THIS FIC IS NOT MULTI-CHAPTER(ED). This is simply a collection of one-shots with DIFFERENT GENRES. They could range from fantasy to humor to angst as long as it revolves around our lovely ToFuu couple. I hope you enjoy!**

**Okay, my first one-shot is different from the other stories. It's kinda like a fantasy fic or something. Let me know what you think about it.**

**Chapter 1: Reasons**

There are many reasons why I hate him. Why I _should_hate him. And somehow I wanted to congratulate myself for coming up with one of the most intelligent, comprehendible, aboriginal statements for proper reasoning. Proper reasoning…

Proper. Is it really?

I unconsciously bit my lip as I stealthily tried as much as to slow down my heart rate for fear he might hear it.

One, I hated him for being the cold jerk that he naturally is. I know… childish. I lightly let out a soft growl. I wanted to slap myself for even thinking of making such sound. Right now, I could feel his crooked smile on me. I looked at him through my lashes and saw him at the other side of the dark room, leaning casually on the wall, arms crossed as I recognized that glint in his eyes. I immediately bowed my head down and prayed to Kami that he didn't hear my sharp intake of breath.

I've known him for a long time. A long, long time that it irked me how I even made such effort to befriend him.

How he would always scowl at me when I talk to him. How he would jerk his hand away from my slightest touch. How he wouldn't even acknowledge my presence at all.

I remembered the time where I felt like I was embarrassing myself in front of him and others. And since that time on, I decided that after he gave his final glare at me for deliberately calling him 'Ms. Little Snowhite', I finally let off.

"Are you afraid?" his voice was deadly laced with arrogance and amusement, and also the tone that underlies intimidation.

"No." I tried to keep my voice as even as possible despite that I was already gasping.

Of course I was afraid. That's the second thing I hate about him. He scares me. He scares me for different reasons I couldn't even name.

But right now, the fear I'm feeling is probably not the fear he wanted to evoke on me. He wanted me to fear him. His whole being. And even for how much I wanted to give in to that fear, I just fear for the wrong thing.

Fear for losing him.

I cringed. That sounded so wrong.

I could hear him taking sure, light steps toward me.

"Why?" my voice broke a little and I bet he was already smiling triumphantly at my admittedly weak tone.

But instead, his voice dropped into a low and gentle pitch that somehow encouraged me to look up at him. "I'm tired of staying away from you." He nearly breathed that sentence and I sworn I felt my heart stop. His eyes held sincerity and vulnerability that I took every ounce of my strength to not shut my own.

I hated him for his mood swings. He is _never_predictable. And that attracted me to him. Right now, I'm sure that my eyes held back the fear he had been searching earlier. Instead, I'm sure my eyes were exposing him confusion.

Why would he do this?

Why would he keep something like this from me?

He took another step and his features seemed to glow in the moonlight. I hated him for that. How he would look so elegant at all angles, at all times. He wasn't even trying.

He smiled. Not that arrogant smirk I have been expecting. But an apologetic smile. A smile that seemed so delicate, I tried as much as to not place my fingers at the corners of his mouth and stretch it more to the sides. It would seem funny if this was a day like any other. Sadly, it wasn't.

And swiftly, but gracefully, he was in front of me. His hand was lightly touching my cheek and his other hand at the side of my head. I never realized how cold his hand was. He trailed his fingers from my cheek to my jaw, and back to my ear where he tucked away a stray of purple hair then slowly trailing his hands to the side of my neck. I still couldn't deny the burning sensation his cold fingers trailed on my soft skin.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly. And I unconsciously nodded my head in response, keeping my eyes closed. At that very moment where I nod my head, I honestly forgot what I was agreeing with him for.

My eyes jolted open when he carefully placed his sculpted nose at the dip of my throat, deliberately brushing his nose at my collarbones and up to the side of my jaw. I never realized how loudly my heart has been beating and how fast my blood was rushing through my veins. The hand at the side of my head were balled into a fist while his other hand seemed to weigh on my neck.

He lightly placed his cold lips at the shell of my ear as he inhaled my scent deeply before placing it over my lids, to the corner of my mouth and back to my throat.

I hated him that he's a vampire.

"Are you afraid now?" he spoke softly against the thin skin of my throat. It was then I realized that my hands were tangled to his silver locks, slightly pulling him closer. He took it as an initiative to finally press his lips to my pulse point in my neck before licking it. Then, before anything else became blindingly white, I felt the tip of his fangs piercing my skin.

And after all of my reasoning, all my statements; I realized none of them was credible.

Even my musings failed me.

After all, I was in love with him.

**Author's Notes: Okay, be honest, how was it? This chapter is inspired to Stephenie Meyer's book "Twilight". I just finished the book and I must, MUST have the second book called "New Moon". I suggest you read it. And yes, I know it's weird making Mi-chan a vampire. But don't you think it's hot? **


	2. Favors

**Favors**

He was walking casually in the school corridors, easily dodging the crowd with his books and student planner tucked securely under his arm. He was nearing the double doors leading outside the school campus when a long stretch of white hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him inside a dark, dusky smelling closet.

"What the-" his hand was about to reach for the rusty knob of the closet when the person that pulled him inside opened the lights.

"Kirisawa?" his eyes adjusted to the sudden light as he carefully eyed the woman who was breathing heavily in front of him, focusing his eyes towards her face and not the her heaving chest that was modestly covered with a hooded black jacket.

"You!" she gritted out, poking a confident finger at his chest.

That was... surprising.

"What, me?" he sounded dumbfounded.

"Yes, you ass!" she was nearly screaming as she irritably tugged on her hair. She took a deep breath and almost closed her eyes only to see the Mikagami glowering over her.

"Now why are you looking at me like that?" she muttered, as if forgetting her earlier tantrum.

His left hand was uncomfortably balled into a fist as he calmly gritted out, "You pull me inside a janitor's closet; you tell me what's going on." He was sure that his eyes were carefully trained on her leaving burning marks in her face as he stared down.

"Well, for one, your-your aficionados," his eyebrow slightly quirked at her choice of words ",were hunting me in the pursuit of your ta-lala." He was silent for a moment.

He was stunned. He didn't understand what she just said.

"In English," she impatiently closed her eyes in annoyance ",your female _and_gay enthusiasts are out to exterminate me." He was soundless. For the second time in a row, he didn't know what she was talking about. He was a smart man, yes, but her choice of putting words and words together never seize to amaze him of his said intellect.

"Okay, go back to the part when you said they were going to do something to you. You started talking like Ghost Busters." He was slightly caught off guard when she closed the painstakingly small gap between them.

"You. Do. Something. About. It." She was poking her delicate finger to his chest at every word, forgetting his cynical remark. Well, this is certainly irking.

"How about another jab, Kirisawa? You may want to stick your finger inside my chest if you go for another round." She was sure she heard him growl the last sentence.

They stared at each other steadily, unaware to the multiple parties outside who were straining their ears against the door to hear every line of their conversation.

"I'm just tired lying about you." She said softly. His brow quirked upward.

"What lies?" he backed her to the wall taking a close step towards her, his tone spoke of frustrated suspicion.

"I don't know. Lies that work." She shrugged her shoulders.

"What lies?" he repeated, words becoming harder.

"Like you're entering priesthood or you're fully devoted to men… stuff like that." Her back was lying flat on the wall, blissfully unaware of his close distance.

"What?" he was literally growling now. Certainly those lies didn't work for him. She might as well interview the man who caught his pants on fire for lying and ask him for new ones that actually _work_ as soon as she gets out of here. _IF_she gets out of here.

"It's either that or you're transgender." She lightly scratched her cheek as she looked up thoughtfully.

He was about to shout at her when his attentive ear heard a male snicker outside the closet. True enough, people were listening to their whole tête-à-tête when that snicker was shushed by multiple others. 'How embarrassing' He thought wryly. He crossly closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.

As soon as he released the breath he has been holding, he finally opened his eyes allowing a smirk come about his lips. Might as well give them a show.

"And you wanted me to do something about it?" he asked in a deathly whisper, tinting it with the slightest tone of seduction.

"Yes." She squeaked as he leisurely leaned his arm on the wall over her head, purposefully dropping his books and planner to the floor and grinned when it fell loudly as he hoped it would and his grin only grew bigger when she noticeably gasped loudly.

She was getting confused. And it infuriated her that he was actually_enjoying_this. She didn't get him and his mood swings. First he was acting innocent then he switches to becoming the angry Hulk and now the undeniably and infuriatingly sexy tempter. Tempter? She's not even sure if there's such a word. What she's sure about as of this moment, is how unbearably close he is.

"And you wanted to me to do something about it _now_?" he was now purring the words slowly, and that was the final straw.

"YES!" she screamed. He satisfactorily closed his eyes at her enraged response. He was sure that the nosy listeners outside were dying to know what she was screaming 'yes' for.

He thought it was about time he reveals their little talk to them.

Not a second later, his foot kicked the door open, shocking curious audiences and some were unfortunate enough to fall on their butts when the door flew open. But that wasn't the thing that shocked them. Not at all.

Inside the janitor's closet was Mikagami Tokiya pining Kirisawa Fuuko to the wall, his arm leaning casually on the wall over her head, his other hand cupping the side of her neck while all his precious books and planner was strewn all over the floor as he roughly kissed her. Their eyes widened with shock when they saw _the_Kirisawa rake her fingers thoroughly on Tokiya's hair pulling him if any closer replying the kiss with just as much vehemence.

They watched stunned as he slowly pulled off from her, boldly nipping the skin at the side of her jaw before leaning the side of his temple on her forehead to look smugly at them. He was battling with himself if should he keep the self-satisfied look on his face or shut the door close again for he was fully aware of her hot and rapid breathing in his ear. Instead, he tried as much to suffice his raging emotions for a few more seconds and moved his head slightly to the side to whisper hotly to her ear.

"It's about time you return the favor, Kirisawa. Now _my_problem is with _your_male fans."

She slightly pushed him off her and ignored his surprised expression. She made sure that he recognized the glint in her eye as she played along with him. Both granting their _little_audience's inquisitive eyes (and minds) as well as granting him _his_favor.

One hand was pressed firmly on his chest as it backed him up the other side of the small room; one hand was slowly closing the door and finally closing the lights.

Oh she's granting his favor alright.


	3. Wedding

**Wedding**

He fixed the tie of his suit, taking one last glance at the mirror before heading towards the elevator.

He watched as the elevator doors slowly closed when he saw Yanagi, one hand clutching her small Maid of Honor's bouquet and one hand lifting her skirt while running after the doors. He held out his hands to stop it from closing and when it finally opened back up, he watched her lean against the doors taking huge gulps of breath.

He was about to ask her but she beat him into it by holding up her hand to signal him to wait for her to get ready.

"Fuuko wants you." She finally breathed. He quirked his eyebrows. _Did she ever? _He thought wryly. Yanagi side-glanced at Tokiya who was still looking at her confusedly when she realized her wrong choice of words.

"I mean, Fuuko wants to see you." She said almost immediately. She tried to fight down the blush her cheeks were holding up. Almost instantly, he walked past her outside the elevator. She watched him calmly stride over the hotel's corridors and take a turn and softly squealed when the doors started closing her in.

_ToFuu_

His heart was thumping loudly against his ribcage as he knocked at the bride's room.

Knock.

_Ba-bump._

Knock.

_Ba-bump._

Knock.

_Ba-_

His heart stopped when the door flew open revealing Fuuko looking downright gorgeous in her wedding gown. She had the healthy "blushing bride" going about her face as she finally breathed a sigh of relief. She lunged towards him and hugged him tightly as her dress would allow it.

When she finally pulled back, he noticed her smile was wider and her tears were slightly moistening up with happy tears.

_Beautiful._

He felt a twinge of pain as he looked over her whole bride-ensemble. He would've wanted to cover his eyes and jokingly wonder what she would look like any to-be-wedded groom would do.

But_God._He wanted nothing else but the thank Kami for letting him be the first man to ever see her so, so…

_Beautiful._

She pulled him inside and excitedly closed the door behind her.

"I have a favor to ask you." Her eyes were crinkling with happiness, taking both of her hands to clasp his.

He lifted his brow. Without asking what, she continued, "You know that I feel most close to you more than anyone else right?" _God._He couldn't look away from her. His mind was barely registering what she was saying. Her slight tightening of hands woke him up though.

"R-Right." He muttered.

"I have a really, really, _really_ big favor to ask you." She took a deep breath and cutely giggled before coughing delicately. She took a big breath and said with no doubt in the world, the very last thing he would ever want to hear.

"I want you to walk me to the aisle."

She said it all in one breath and it was amazing how he understood those words so clearly that it broke his heart.

"W-What?" he heard the ache in his voice as he mumbled dumbly at her.

"Well, considering I don't have a dad, and Recca is a little too goofy to walk me in the aisle and I'm not really sure if I could reach the altar if Domon walked me," She spoke so fast and as much as he wanted to _not_understand her words, her favor rang loud and clear in his mind.

_Walk me to the aisle._

", so basically you're the best choice!" she finally finished, slightly clutching her hands with his tightly. He stared down at her face carefully. His eyes traced her every feature. Her stunning blue-green eyes, her naturally pink cheeks, that proud button nose, and those lips he so wanted to kiss. Too bad he never got the chance to.

This might be even the last chance he'd be looking into those perfect, blue-green pools after this word would break her heart.

"No." he said with hard resolve, blocking his eyes of any more anguish and betrayal. He watched her face silently as it switched to confusion.

"Wha- Why?" he simply shook his hands away from her, walking toward the door when her hand caught his wrist.

"Mi-chan?" she whispered dumbfounded at his unexpected reaction.

"No." his back was facing her, he spoke the words tightly.

"Wa-Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Mi-chan," he refused to look. "Mi-chan. Mi-chan, look at me." She yanked his hand to face her, which he complied albeit uneasily.

"What's wrong?" she tried searching his eyes which he diligently focused on the carpet below.

"Look at me." She said softly, lightly turning his face towards her with her hands.

"What's up?" she wanted to sound casually, but how could she when he was all _but_casual with her.

"Nothing." He mumbled, training his eyes back to the carpet.

"No, tell me." Her hands focused on his face once more to meet hers. He remained stubborn as he kept his silence. She lightly bit her lip and tried to search for his eyes once more. And she was stunned when she saw sadness in those deep blue grey eyes.

"Please… I know that it's enough that you come to the wedding and be there, but…" she trailed, her eyes never leaving his.

", I just want to know if it's okay for you that I get married today." she said carefully.

"No." her eyes grew wide.

"What? Tell me! What is wrong with Raiha?" she was getting frustrated now.

"Nothing is wrong with _Raiha_." He seethed his name.

"Then why don't you walk me to the-" She was cut off when he rashly pulled his face away from hers to hide it when he turned his back on her.

"Because I refuse to give you to another man!"

Her heart stopped at his words. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish on the edge on losing her breath.

"I- I didn't know." She breathed, looking astounded by his revelation. She was thinking on either forgetting what he said or strangle him for not telling her sooner.

"You know what, fine. Fine. Let's- Let's just do it." He faced her, eyes looking determined but she could well see the wretchedness behind those brave eyes.

"Wait- Mi-chan… Just tell me if you don't want to, I understand. I could ask Recca-" he cut her off, "No, I want to." He let out a small strained smile. Question was evident in her eyes. He just held out his hand to her for invitation. She unconsciously let out a sob as she took his hand and surprising him by hugging him to her.

She was crying on his shoulder and his heart broke. He didn't want to make her cry. Not on her most important day. Not for him. _Especially not for him. _He wanted to slap himself for being selfish for that one minute but all he could do was comfortingly spread his hands on her back, one hand was going up to cup the backside of her head as he hugged her tighter.

They stayed like that for a while until her sobs died down. Through that comforting silence, they heard the soft vibration of his phone in his pocket. He reluctantly pulled away from her and read the name of the caller in his phone.

"It's Yanagi. Why did you ever choose her as your wedding planner?" he muttered, letting a little amusement trail his voice to lighten up the mood. Although, he had to admit, in the first time since never, he actually learned to get a little irritated at Yanagi for being a perfectionist. He looked at Fuuko from under his lashes as he instinctively flipped his phone close.

She only laughed good naturedly at him.

_ToFuu_

The entourage was flowing smoothly as they walked the aisle in a one-two count, wearing all smiles.

"Where the heck is the Maid of Honor?!" Yanagi was squealing now. They only looked at her blankly. Her face grew hot as she realized that she was looking for herself.

"Oh." She giggled uncomfortably, and took the headphones she had attached to her ear, and hand it over to one of the church's helper. She delicately straightened her gown as she latched to Recca, the best man.

"Ok, go." She whispered.

The last ones to go before the bride were the flower girls who were happily sprinkling rose petals at the pristine red carpet.

As soon as the church pianist started the climax of Canon in D major, the doors opened and all the guests turned to look at the bride, all with tearful, happy smiles.

Mikagami Tokiya was walking Kirisawa Fuuko to the aisle. The guests secretly thought that they have never seen such beautiful pair walk down the aisle than them. Even Raiha had to admit that.

They were taking painstakingly slow steps, and it surprised Tokiya that he felt something was weighing down on Fuuko. It was as if behind that translucent veil, she was thinking deep. Deep enough for him not to read her thoughts.

They reached the end of the aisle, both pair of eyes fixed on the altar.

"Are you sure of this?" he asked softly without looking at her. He was scared that if he did, he may not give her away to her future husband. His heart took another painful clench.

She didn't reply, but she only looked at him, and for the second time that day, she hugged him. It was going to be probably the last hug he would ever have with her. It was just as painful that she was saying goodbye as it was when he realized that before his very eyes, the person he ever loved was going to commit her life with a man that wasn't him.

He stiffly walked back to his seat beside Mrs. Kirisawa who was already weeping at her white tissue.

The priest coughed, and looked at the couple before him.

"Dearly beloved…"

His heart was pounding loudly as he wearily stared at the couple in front. He imagined himself being there, kneeling beside her instead of him. He imagine himself holding her hands, throwing her a smirk when he feels her palms getting sweaty, perspiration mingling with his own nervous ones.

He imagined himself being the one to spend the rest of his life with her. In a house, with kids, a nice car and a dog in labor with puppies.

_Damn it._

"Should there be anyone who has cause why this couple should not be united in marriage, they must speak now or forever hold their peace." The priest looked at the audience behind the couple through his glasses. Everybody was looking around them, a normal sight in a wedding, waiting patiently for someone to snag either of the couple in a dramatic entrance.

A few more seconds…

_3…_

_2…_

And just as when the priest adjusted his reading glasses, cleared his throat with his eyes trained to the bible before him. His mouth moved to speak when…

_1…_

All was stunned when a man with silver hair, clad in a suit so precariously void of any wrinkles that rivaled that of the groom, and eyes full of determination stood up from his seat, ignoring all the surprised stares he was receiving from everyone.

Raiha turned to look back at him, eyes promising confusion and rage.

Mrs. Kirisawa looked at him with tear-stained eyes.

The rest of the Hokage team eyed at him, all eyes wide as saucers.

And his eyes were expertly focused on her back.

And when her shoulders loosened, she finally craned her neck to stare at him.

He opened his mouth, eyes stubbornly looking straight at hers.

"I."


	4. Beer Talk

** Beer Talk **

He grumbled unintelligently for the nth time that night. He was dead tired as he eyed the slow opening of the apartment's elevator. He walked out, totally stressed from work.

Yanagi was going to have to make sure that she gives him back his house key after he's done with this.

He treaded the narrow, air-conditioned hallway, the warm yellow-tinted lights only making his eyes more tired by every step. He shook his head to rid of the sleepiness, setting his jaw in a determined clench. He was going to finish this tonight.

Quick and easy.

He knocked at room 403 and frowned when no one was coming to open the door for him. He lightly groaned when he turned the unlocked doorknob.

Didn't she know how to lock her own door?_ Anyone _could've entered her room.

But then again, that someone would have the misfortune in getting his ass kicked.

Before he headed towards the familiar one-bedroom apartment, he heard a hiccup from inside the bathroom.

He only shook his head and sighed as he settled his suitcase in the pristine white leather couch. Idly loosening his tie, he slipped off from his shoes, expertly dodging all those fancy glass furniture.

"Kirisawa," he called only to be replied with another hiccup. The bathroom was open, he noticed. He wondered if she was decent. He took a small peak inside, and sighed in relief that she was fully clothed, lying in the dry porcelain tub, one hand holding a beer, and the other holding a marker. She had her knees brought up to her chest, a list on her lap. She wrote sluggishly on the paper and grumbled.

"_The movie you have to see_. No that's not it. I _hated_that movie."

He coughed shortly to get her attention and she thoughtfully looked at him, taking a swig of her beer.

"Hey." She returned back to her piece of paper.

"Hn."

"You want some beer? It's in the sink." Truthfully enough, there was the sink, a _bathroom_sink filled with ice and probably 10 more unopened canned beers. He absentmindedly took one and walked towards the tub while opening the lid. He sat at the edge and took a guzzle of beer. He sighed contentedly as the cool alcohol slid down his throat.

Suddenly remembering his reason of coming over here, he looked back at her slightly nipping on the marker while her eyes trained at the paper on her lap. He realized that she wasn't wearing anything decent, but a faded KISS concert shirt and a pair of boyshorts. Damn.

And as far as what he heard of Yanagi, the main correspondent of sending him here, she was drunk.

"What did you think about the movie _Saw IV_?" she asked without looking up. He looked up the ceiling thoughtfully and took another sip from the can. "Disturbingly inhuman." He replied immediately.

"Pff, how about imaginative?" she muttered, "… yeah imaginative." Then she scribbled with her marker on the list._Imaginative_.

"You hated that movie." He pointed out.

"I know." She said sheepishly. She finally put the marker and the list beside her in the tub and drank from her can. "Just that you simply can't say anything debauched about a Hollywood movie."

"Then why?" he looked at her with his one brow raised.

"Well, my job requires a back-seat in the movie industry. Might as well make yourself known to the public by sending in good reviews to the producers to have your name printed in movie posters and DVD's." she chuckled dryly and drank again.

"Well, that's not really professional don't you think?"

"That's show business, babes." She leaned the backside of her head against the edge of the tub and sighed. "Why're _you_here? Far as I know, _your_job requires sleep during the night and work during daylight savings."

"Yanagi called me over." He said wryly. He took a sip.

"Pff… You didn't have to. It's not like I'm a drunk movie critic –slash- cupcake shop owner." She tried to stifle a hiccup, only to have it released loud enough for him to hear.

"You are a drunk movie critic –slash- cupcake shop owner." He smirked. He thought that she has the weirdest jobs he had ever come across with. She was a quaint cupcake bakery owner by day, and by night she slays the movie industry with her no-nonsense critique. He learned that she was drunk because of her all-too-nicely put-together movie review of _Saw IV_. She detested that movie. He should know. He was with her when they watched the premiere.

That and she broke up with her boyfriend.

Suddenly remembering that, he put up a straight face and asked seriously, "What's up," he wasn't asking actually. It was as if he knew she would lie straight away knowing that he got to the point straight without having her taking curbs on her love life.

"What?" she raised her head to look at him confusedly. He shot her a suspecting look.

"The guy. What's his name? Jerko?" he lightly scratched his head and closed his eyes.

"Jericho. Jericho Swan, you know the actor?" Ah, yes, the actor.

"Really? I could've sworn it was Jerko." He was sure it was Jerko. He remembered the first time Fuuko introduced the half Japanese and half Russian to him where his funny accent introduced himself as 'Jerk-O'. He didn't know if the guy was joking, but he secretly thought it was funny.

She only let out an irritated sigh.

"You know, you're not exactly a girl's best friend when it comes to this." She leaned her head back. She mumbled an invitation for him to take the space in the tub opposite hers, which he willingly slipped in. She instinctively placed her feet on top of his lap.

"Why, that was encouraging." He mumbled darkly, fondly eying her creative cartooned-nail polish on her toes.

"Where's Yanagi anyway? I should be bawling the night away to her right now if you weren't you."

"In the carnival with the kids and the monkey." He drank from his can.

"And she called you to hear me out." She replied back knowingly, "Why that sweet little peach." And he only chuckled. Somehow, Fuuko was known for saying vulgar X-rated words with conviction, but she couldn't bring herself to say that to Yanagi.

They stayed like that for a while, talking about the day they had, Fuuko doing most of the talk. She talked about her cupcake shop, a line of pre-school kids entered her shop with their teacher and three minutes later they were all running about her shop, disturbing customers. Dirty little demons. But she said that she couldn't bring herself to chew out on them because they reminded her of herself when she was a kid. Only she was ten times worst. After they all left with free cupcakes, she invited them to come back to the shop anytime.

Then the conversation revolved around Fuuko's nightlife of movie criticizing. She shared how much she hated going to the Hollywood mainstream premieres in Tokyo, and that she would rather go to underground movie houses that showed more art films she so loved. She was known for her Japan Indie Scene reviews that even experienced art film movie goers learned to trust in her reviews. The only problem she had with those is that she doesn't get paid as much as reviewing high-end movies.

They shared about the movies they both loved, one was _Imahe Nasyon_, a documentary film from the Philippines which were 20 short films made by 20 directors revolving on the 20 years after the legendary EDSA movement of the Filipinos for democracy. She took Tokiya with her to watch the movie considering Jerk-O was more of the preppy kind of guy who wanted to watch Hollywood shit, no matter how crappy it might've been. That was probably the reasons she broke up with him. Their movie preferences never clashed. And for Fuuko, it's a big plus when you have at least a fraction of her movie interests. Spell 'plus' with a capital 'P'.

Then they discussed about _one_ movie they both liked that was from the conventional media Mecca (Hollywood), _Crash_. They both liked how their lives were connected with each other. It was so realistic and rampant that it amazed them so much of the reality of racism in the United States between the whites, the blacks, the Asians and the Mexicans.

They then conversed about the worst films they had to come across, and for Fuuko's part, the worst she had to endure to critique. They both agreed that no one, _no one, _should ever make another movie with the combination of teenagers with horrible acting skills and musicals. It makes her want to puke. Those movies only focused on making money, not really focusing in the realistic side of teenage life. Everyone should know that life is no fucking musical. Every parent should know that. Unless they would actually want to hear their children sing the same songs from the blasted movie infecting them with the Last Song Syndrome disease.

"I hear they're making the third one of those crap." her face crinkled.

"Triple the gayness." she continued.

Then, the topic they both enjoyed: actors they would most likely date. Tokiya had to admit that he once fancied dating Natalie Portman. He confessed quite blandly that it turns him on when a straight, non-alcoholic actress graduated from Harvard. She said that she dreamt on dating the French Gaspard Ulliel from Hannibal.

"_And_he speaks English. How hot is that?" she said following up with a snort, "As if being French is not sexy enough."

"True, true." He said. He put down his empty can to the tiled floor. It was his third beer, and seventh for her. He knew that she was wise enough to not drink above her limit (which was nonexistent anyways) and they both fell in comfortable silence, each of them stuck in their own musings. He settled in massaging her feet on his lap. He smirked when he remembered a saying from Anne Morrow Lindbergh,

_Good conversation is as stimulating as black coffee. And just as hard to sleep at._

At their case, good conversation is always over a case of beer, but it works just the same.

His mind trailed back at the woman before him. She was closing her eyes, but he was just as sure that she was still awake with that small smile plastered on her lips. He was tracing her features while familiarly tracing circles on top of her foot. He had to admit, even in a not-so-wasted state, she still never fails to attract him to her. Her long neck was craned backwards, trailing down to her busts to her flat tummy and to the long expanse of her legs that was currently laying comfortably on his lap. He can't deny the growing heat in his body. He was only man. And she was only wearing a playboy boy shorts.

His fingertips were already unconsciously slithering at her legs and he heard her sigh contentedly. Growing bolder, his hand ghosted over her thighs where even the sounds she was making gotten louder as well. Unable to contain any longer, he shifted toward her, one hand was still contentedly resting on her bare thigh, one hand moved to stretch the whole length of his arm so he could lean over her with a noticeably close distance from her face. He looked at her intently, watching her breath shift from normal to rapid.

She felt the once cool and relaxed atmosphere alternate to hot and intense. She opened her lids, only to rest at his half-lidded grey eyes.

"Hi," she breathed.

"Hey," he replied huskily. Without a second more, he was kissing her slowly, getting used to her lips, their softness, and that undoubtedly addicting taste. She replied his kiss, pacing up to his sensual licks, her hands slowly unbuttoning his white polo. He had to groan when her hands explored his now-exposed muscled chest and almost doubled over when her knee was innocently grazing between his legs. His tongue slid inside hers, tasting that last remnants of beer and that flavor that was essentially hers.

He grinned.

He had to admit,

_**Beer never tasted this good.**_

_**Author's Notes: Okay, I'm sorry about those who love High School Musical. It's just that I never got that movie. At all. And you have to admit that their acting skills is so fake. Now, if you don't want to review, I understand. I don't want to debate with you on that movie. And about Saw IV, said by the critics themselves, the movie is inhuman. Not scary.****  
**_


	5. Kitchen Confidential

**Kitchen Confidential**

_Fine dining is all about art._

_Fine dining is all about food._

_Fine dining should be precise._

_Fine dining should taste not good, but exemplary._

"And fine dining should be fast." He spoke loudly against her ear, "You may want to speed up in chopping that celery, Kirisawa." The silver-haired man only smirked as he left her station in the kitchen and went around supervising the other chefs. She only rolled her eyes and glared holes on his back while hastily chopping the celery to miniscule bits, expertly missing her digits by millimeters.

"_Fine dining should be fast_. Pfffttt." She grumbled, gathering the celery to a small white bowl, grabbing a carrot and proceeded chopping it in fine even sticks. "What does he think this is? Some fast food diner?" she scowled, taking a spare carrot stick and gruffly munched on it.

"Kirisawa," he trailed with a growl, "You may want to stop pigging on those carrots and go finish up that soup. The ambassador doesn't want his food late." He looked at her pointedly. She met his glare with her own, mouthing a murder attempt on him as she brought her carrot stick and sliding it horizontally against her throat, visually showing him death she was promising. She stubbornly placed the carrot back between her teeth and continually thinking of ways how to stab him with their 8,000 dollar knives.

"_Now_." He stressed out and turned back at her to proceed sautéing chicken bits and vegetables.

_ToFuu_

She took a long drag of smoke into her lungs, grimly thinking to herself._He's such an ass. This is not Hell's Kitchen for Bobby Flay's sake. _

She grinned when she got called out of the kitchen to formally meet the ambassador's praises on her remarkable self-invented soup. She proudly called it "My Soup" and explained she has yet to think of another catchy title when she gets around.

Exhaling the smoke, she remembered the scowl on his face as soon as she entered back to the kitchen with a victorious smile. _That's what he gets for taking me too lightly. _She smirked.

The back door of the kitchen flew open. She craned her neck to look upwards from her crouching position, only to meet cold grey eyes.

"You'll be fixing up the kitchen tonight." He said pointedly.

"What? I just fixed up the other night!" she protested. She hated fixing up the kitchen. She had to clean every station, make sure the storage room is in order; the kitchen fridge should be rid with expired ingredients. It sounded easy all at first, but you have no idea how big their kitchen is, or how high _his_ expectation is.

"Did you?" he quirked an eyebrow and she only replied with a twitch in her lips.

"Too bad, I was on leave at that time." His eyes swept to look at the graffiti brick wall ahead, apparently, not caring about her sending death glares at him.

"That's unfair! Go ask Shiori to do it this time!" he only glared back at her.

"No." he said with finality and went back inside the kitchen. She irately tugged on her hair as she stood up, purposefully dropping her cigarette stick to stomp on it. She dusted of her white chef ensemble and frowned while thinking to herself. _He is so going to hell for this._

_ToFuu_

"I'll see you later bitch." Yumi grinned teasingly as she kissed Fuuko's cheek before gathering her purse to leave the kitchen on the back door. She only grunted.

The other chefs were obviously relieved that they weren't going to have after-hours in the kitchen, and they most certainly held out full sympathy for her… only some were just plain-flat thankful that they weren't presently in her shoes.

Definitely, she's still not feeling this staying-up-to-clean-the-kitchen. She hated staying after hours. And twice a week! Maybe if he feels like it, he'll double it to four times a week.

"Stop standing there like you're waiting for the holy image of Anthony Bourdain to appear in that knife. Now, clean that up." He half-ordered, half-teased. Well, he is undoubtedly the unfunniest man she would have the misfortune to know. For far as she know, that man lost his sense of humor since he was able to walk. That, or he doesn't watch Bobby Chinn at all.

Unwillingly, she cleaned the bloodied knife and wished that it was his blood she was trying to hide from wildly imagined NBI who would suddenly burst inside the kitchen preferably minutes from now and not lamb blood that they cooked for Plum Lamb Kabobs.

But looking at their present predicament, she had to admit that today isn't at all just as bad. With Mikagami patrolling around the kitchen earlier, the other chefs were bound to keep their stations clean and spotless. He was very much particular in making sure that each station is faultlessly sanitary even as they cook. With that thought, she let out a sigh as if ridding of her earlier mind-tantrum.

She distinctively heard him going to the storage room, opening imported herbs from their tightly sealed package, and she noted to herself that he might be sniffing trying to suffice if the freshness was enough.

She had to admit. That man has talent. She tasted his Lobster Mozambique, and it tasted like heaven. She swore her head spun (in a good way) as soon as the onion, garlic and paprika played around her tongue. She even made an assumption that she wouldn't want to swallow it if it would resound the flavors in her mouth longer. He was a devil making heavenly music.

She proceeded to Oshijima-san's dessert station, and frowned to see lukewarm melted chocolate in the sauté pan. Surely, she can't recycle that 100 dollar chocolate for future recipe tomorrow. That is a very strict rule in the kitchen. Especially when you are working with dairy products. She remembered how he has this obsessive compulsion on recycled food. Fuuko decided to make the most out of it before Mikagami sees it first and finds it worthy to be thrown in the bin along with the sinfully buttery goodness of cocoa.

Grabbing a bowl of strawberries at the far side of Oshijima-san's counter, she dipped one plump strawberry into the chocolate and stealthily popped it into her mouth.

Fuuko almost jumped when she felt a presence too close behind her, undoubtedly feeling the breath on the back of her ear. Thank God she wasn't holding a knife. Those imported Thai fruits were too good to waste if he drops it when she stabs him upfront.

Before he could throw anything offensive at her, she hastily dipped another strawberry to the chocolate, swiftly placing it in his unexpected half-opened lips. She winked at him haughtily, apparently her face victorious of having him to keep quiet before taking the offense, and backed away from him, grabbing the sauce pan of chocolate to the sink. He barely heard her open the faucet that was now washing away the milk chocolate…

Too bad she didn't notice how his eyes darkened with mild suppression once her fingers lightly brushed his teeth and how her skin briefly grazed his tongue as it melted along with the sweet chocolate and the mild tang of the strawberry.

And too bad she didn't see him, mindlessly of course, appreciatively lick his lips as he pushed the undeniable thought of being turned on as she inserted two chocolate-coated fingers to her mouth as soon as she walked away from him satisfied. Naturally, he was satisfied for a whole other reason.

She was oblivious to his actions as she washed a number of utensils, softly humming to herself. Once she was done washing the soap suds on the sauce pan and toweling it dry, she thought of turning back to tell him that she was heading home.

By the time she made a motion to look at him, he beat her into it by having her trapped between the counter and his hard built. Before she could find a way to escape his peculiar intense gaze at her, she simply stood in front of him, frozen in place. His breath was warming her face and she was mildly aware of the way his hands were planted on the counter along her sides while his thumbs were tracing agonizingly warm circles on her hips.

"I think there's still a few things that needs a little clean up." He murmured huskily, tempting her with half-lidded eyes.

And before she could think of a comprehendible remark, she swiftly felt the velvet texture of his tongue licking the lost drop of chocolate along her jaw…

_ToFuu_

She was _late._He didn't like _late_. Because those who were _late_ stayed up to clean the kitchen.

She hastily opened the swinging doors to the kitchen and found the other chefs gathered up in a small tight pack, looking at a sheet of paper that was pinned to the cork board on the wall. Before she could push her way between them, they were all grumbling dismissively, moving back to their stations all with glum faces. She was confused when she felt her colleagues pat her shoulder sympathetically. Before she could ask why, she swiftly looked back to find Mikagami Tokiya leaning casually along the edge of the counter of _her_station.

That brought unwanted, yet unforgettable (not to mention sinfully delightful), memories from last night. She briefly thought that they actually did _it_on her station.

She looked back at the sheet of paper, not giving him the pleasure to enjoy her flooded red cheeks on his account.

She momentarily gathered that this sheet is actually the schedule of their nightly kitchen clean-up, the reason for the other chefs to be depressed about. Her eyes widened when she noticed that her name was written over at least _three times_.

Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.

And of course along with the name she has just come to pleasurably appreciate since the night before.

She swiftly looked back at him and recognized the glint in his eyes.

Oh he's going to wish that they were on nightly duty _every night_.


	6. Delivery

**Delivery**

Finals was killing him.

He was drumming his fingers over the mock-exam, surprisingly unable to answer the simple equation. Gods, since when did he started having mental blackouts? He groaned, bringing his hands over his face, frustratingly sliding up to rake his silver hair.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shhhhit.. _He started mumbling incoherent curses, all pertaining to poop, using the Lord's name in vain and cursing his own mother. This was not helping him. Of course _nothing_is helping him. He just simply thought that cursing would release some pent-up frustrations. So there you go. _Fuck._

Why on earth did he choose Accounting? Didn't he remember Fuuko telling him that he should've taken cosmetology? He second guessed she said that because of how well he takes care of his hair and how his skin seemed to be flawless.

Kami… he should've taken cosmetology to save his sanity.

_This is impossible. _He stared right back at the piece of paper gruesomely.

The throbbing in his head heightened when the dull buzzing of the doorbell was repeatedly ringing.

He stomped his way towards the door while retying his hair back to its low ponytail. He hastily pulled the door open, revealing a certain purple-head.

"What?" he asked gruffly, crossing his arms while leaning against the door frame.

"Pizza delivery." She said, her smile stretching to a lazy grin.

His brow shot up, "You're late. 15 minutes."

She exhaled sharply, one hand resting on her hip. "I hope you're aware that you live in an all-male dormitory."

He looked at her, willing her to continue.

She pointed to herself, "This is exactly what men see in Girls Gone Wild."

"16 minutes."

"Just pay up." She held out her hand resting on her hip, palm up.

"Fine." He grumbled. He dug deep in his pocket, his mind temporarily mulling over the graphic image his neighbors must have after seeing her delivering pizza. He snuck a glance at her, noting the red and white jacket from the pizzeria that ended long on her mid-thigh. She was wearing plain white spandex and low-waist worn denim that stopped snug below her hipbone. She inserted each thumb into the pockets of her jeans, unconsciously pulling it precariously lower, revealing a flat white tummy.

He dug deeper into his pocket, eyes resting on the peeled-off paint of the doorframe. He was scared that if his eyes lingered longer on the small sinful expanse of skin, he would start thinking of ways to praise it with his own bo…

"Listen, I don't have all time. Still have a lot of deliveries. So chop chop, sweetheart."

He slapped the money on her waiting palm and snatched the pizza box on the floor. He was about to shut the door when long pale hands curled on the door's edge, pushing it open.

He sighed opening it back again. "What?"

There was a momentary pause were she looked at him and back at the money resting on her uncurled hand. "This is exact." It wasn't a question.

"That's lovely." He made a motion to shut the door when she pushed again, harder.

"Could you at least give some tip? I'm hungry." She moaned. He studied her face, taking in the dark circles under her eyes.

"Have you been staying up?" he asked suddenly.

It surprised the both of them that she just simply scratched the back of the ear uncertainly. "Erm… Yea… It's my finals too you know. Gets some dirt going." She grinned looking down at her paint-smeared jeans.

"Huh," he looked thoughtful for a moment, "Good luck then." He was starting on the door again when she finally put her foot in between the door and the fringe.

"Oho no no no, buddy. You're not good in stalling as I am."

He had to agree on that one. She has this habit in stalling people without even knowing it. Just dressing up makes her look like she's wearing a neon sign of a smoking nun under her sleeve.

"Here, have fun." He nonchalantly threw her ten cents, which she successfully dodged while trying to push her way in.

"No way. I'm starving." She grunted. He finally let off, stepping back bringing his hand to his head to smother down the defeat. She was breathing heavily, her hands resting on her knees. "I need food, man. Lack of nourishment shuts down the brain." She held her hand again, standing straight.

"I thought the restaurant gives free food to the employees?"

She scratched her head sheepishly. "I've been late."

"You're always late." He pointed out.

"Oh come on! How much time do you think it takes to deliver food? How much time do you think it takes me to down university guy's equivocation?"

He raised a brow. "They flirt on you?"

"Don't insult me, Mikagami." She rolled her eyes.

"Huh," there was mild amusement in his face as he gazed over her face, more studiously this time.

"Stop staring, and start feeding this monkey." She cocked her head to the side as if to point out in slight accusation.

He scowled.

"Please." She said exasperatedly.

"Fine. There's enough pizza for the three of us."

"Three?"

"You have an appetite of two full grown men."

She slapped his arm too hard for a friendly 'smack'. Before she went past him, he held her wrist to whisper in her ear, "Does this monkey like bananas?"

She shrugged, seemingly ignorant of the way the double meaning dripped his words like honey. "Sure."

He smirked as his hand holding her wrist trailed down to entwine his fingers with her.

"Good." The word came out as a rumble deep in his chest, she barely heard it.

With a grin, he closed the door with his foot.


	7. Holiday

**Holiday**

His heart stopped. Literally.

He inhaled through his pink nose, and unwittingly so, his heart stopped for another millisecond. He sneezed.

His hand momentarily retracted from the doorknob to his apartment and he brought it to his face, the back of his palm against his nose as he sneezed.

He frowned. He supposed that not all people are immune to colds and "sneeziures" as Ishijima would like to put it. He assumed that he found it _smart_and very _science-cy_when he adds suffixes like "-ures" or "-tion" to simple words like "sneeze" and "fever". He groaned as he thought about what he said earlier that morning that sworn make his head spin. _"Whoa, Mikagami, are you running a fevertion? Damn." _

He guessed that the doofball wanted to catch up with him since he figured he was so above his standards, _"studying medicine and all"._

He sneezed.

Even doctors are not immune to sickness. Much more medicine students.

"Oohh… that sucks." His frowned deepen upon hearing that perfectly toned and _healthy_voice of his neighbor. Before he could stuff out a reply, she surprised him by extending her arm, handing him a packet of tissues. She was leaning on the wall beside his door; a lazy grin was spread about her face.

"Thanks." He mumbled, pulling out a tissue in time before sneezing his heart out. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"My, a man caught in between his element." He could hear amusement in her voice and he took every ounce not to get back at her with a witty remark.

Instead, he bowed his head on the door with his eyes closed and took in huge breaths of the cold winter air. He stayed that way for a few moments, as if his stoic silence would send her warm atmosphere away.

"Hey, how about I share to you a fun-fact I just learned?"

He groaned.

"Well, did you know that scientists said that your heart stops beating when you sneeze?"

"That's your fucking fun-fact?" he turned his head sideways to glare at her in time to see her shrug.

"Listen, I'm not a scientist so give me a break. Those kind little things amuse me."

"You want to be amused? Here's a fact, your heart stops beating once you speak another gobbledygook sentence." He stood up straight and fumbled his pocket for his keys. He faintly heard her chuckle. He heard her straighten her clothes as she stood straight from the wall.

He felt her cool hands, like slender icicles, slide over his hands and kept them away from his pockets. He looked at her dumbfounded as she held his wrist in place at his side, her other hand slipping across the front pocket of his jacket. Her hand retrieved his house keys.

"Aren't we grumpy this holiday?" she teased softly against his ear. Her hand slipped the cooler keys to his palm he didn't know she gently prodded open.

He heard something metallic clink as she sneakily slipped something to his breast pocket, making him shiver.

"Merry Christmas." She kissed him in his cheek, close to the corners of his lips.

He stood in front of his doorstep in a daze, and jumped slightly at the sound of her own door closing behind her. He uncharacteristically blinked out of his stupor as he took out whatever small and metallic she put on his pocket.

It was a lone key.

Her house key.

He looked back at her closed door and smirked.

_How splendid._

He then opened the door to his apartment, his heart momentarily stopping as he thought about his new gift.

**Author's Notes: Happy holidays everyone! Review! **


	8. Nosy

**Nosy**

Recca has always been a nosy roommate.

He has the nasty habit of walking about the house; the only clothed part of him would be his feet in soft, plush slippers from his poor of a guy housemate. Or if you're lucky, you'd see him strutting around the kitchen during breakfast _half naked_.

He has the likings of a raccoon to eavesdrop to conversations. He would sneakily pick up the spare phone in their apartment to scoop up some conversation between his roommate and his girlfriend.

He would barge into his housemate's room for random reasons, most of it was highly unnecessary. The last straw that drove the poor guy away was when Recca impishly admitted that he borrowed a pair of underwear from him. The man practically stomped out of the wretched apartment, not wanting another day spent with the prying, _naked, _moron.

Recca was all those things, if not more.

But after making Mikagami Tokiya share the apartment with him, after finally noting the lack of funds for the rent, bills and other necessities, he learned to finally become an upright, fully-clothed, non-interfering roomy.

He had become full aware of it the moment he tried to sneak in his room, intentionally 'borrowing' a pair of socks to account him for the day at the gym.

He dreaded that memory. It was one of the worst mistakes he ever made.

So for the past four months, he has stayed out of Mikagami's property; anything and everything that is so properly labeled with his initials, or anything and everything that has even a single strand of silver hair upon it.

So what on earth has he done wrong now?

He's not violating any sacred rule, is he?

He's not invading Mikagami's room, nor is he grabbing a carrot stick from his ZipLock in the fridge.

In fact, he is perfectly standing still by the door, hands that relatively frozen over the doorknob as he stared shocked at the sight before him.

He had to avert his gaze momentarily to look around the room, double checking that he was not in the sole property of Mikagami's room, only to be astounded that he was in the safe comfort zones of their living room.

His eyes swept back at the sight before him.

Not so safe anymore.

There he was, Tokiya Mikagami, sprawled on top of a disheveled Fuuko Kirisawa whose one leg was hooked on the other's back. His hands were halfway through inside her shirt; her own hands were frozen at the process of unbuttoning his polo.

His eyes traveled up their faces which were equally red and as though they have been thoroughly kissed.

_Well, duh. _

Recca turned around and closed the door behind him, eyes shut as one thought fleeted over his mind.

_He'd be needing a new roommate. _

His eyes flew open.

_He'd be needing a new couch as well. _

Well, that makes two thoughts from a very nosy raccoon.


	9. Deadly Ice

**Author's Notes: this is to make up for my story, Deadly Ice. It seems that I have a permanent Writer's Block on that story and I couldn't think on how to continue the story anymore.**

**Anyway, this is the start of the story, Mikagami was assigned to assassinate Fuuko by Master Kurei because he believes that she holds a very powerful element, the wind, that would be a big obstruction for him. She makes it, however losing her memory in the process of recovering. Mikagami meets her again after being sent off by Recca, he came back meeting a new Fuuko. And now…**

**Just when he thought that he is done with Kurei, Kurei asks him to finish the "job" of killing Fuuko. At this point of the story, Fuuko discovers her painful past. But it isn't easy of a job for Mi-chan.**

**Deadly Ice**

He tried sucking in a huge breath, the cool air stinging his nostrils. His body involuntarily shivered, his knees were shaking and his arms were cramped from stretching them forward for too long. He didn't care. He was going to take all the time he needs just to memorize that face…

_Kurei threw him the gun. _

"_You're not done yet," he grinned wryly, "You blew it. Now, she remembers everything. She remembers you. The night you tried to kill her."_

_His jaw tightened. He felt a lump in his throat as he shut his eyes, willing to erase her image, deranged and the look of betrayal in her eyes._

_Kurei circled him, stopping to speak behind him, "I think it's best to get on with it,"_

"_It would be like hide and seek… Only, she would be hiding for a very, very long time."_

His eyes felt it was burning; he was sure hot tears were threatening to spill out any moment.

_It would be like hide and seek_

Maybe it was wrong to prolong their time. Maybe it was wrong to even look at her pained face; he would rather go to hell than to have that last pained expression of hers committed to his brain. _I'm going to hell anyway, might as well take the plunge._

_He had been hiding for too long_

Maybe it was wrong he kept her for too long.

Maybe it was wrong to love her.

"Be still Mi-chan," she gave a wry smile. Of all the times to be humorous about death, it just had to be now. "Can't kill a monkey with shaking hands."

He growled. How can she throw an offhanded remark about death so easily? Is it so easy for her to leave him like that? All wretched and horrible and lost? He noted how jealous he was for that. Kami… he wished he could too.

"Would you rather I sit in my couch while you pull the trigger? Or should I stand?"

"Remain standing, please." His voice cracked as he murmured.

She let out an irritated sigh. "Well hurry on then, boy. Waiting for your death to come while standing could be very tiresome."

His finger shook as it slowly traced the trigger.

This was it.

Then, her features changed for irritated, to calmness. She gave him her last smile, serene and pure, all pain and betrayal erased from her face. She closed her eyes.

"Finally, to die in the hands of someone you love, albeit not on the same sense." She murmured. She peeked one eye to look at him, not a trace of fear.

"Ready?" she said softly.

Her eye closed back in again. The air in the old warehouse suddenly grew heavier.

Not a second later, the sound of a gun resounded through the closed apartment.

_It would be like hide and seek…_

She opened one eye, and then the other, eyes blinking as she stared at the silver-haired man panting.

"You missed." She remarked.

"You think? I sworn I aimed it straight at your kidneys." He panted sharply, sarcasm etched in his face.

"Well, you don't exactly have the talent for shooting." She crossed her arms and her knees gave out, letting her slump over the couch beneath her. "You should use your sword though. I'm sure it would be a lot easier."

"A gun would be faster." He mumbled, walking towards her, and sat right next to the thoughtful purple-head.

"Hm… It wouldn't be as painful though." She said softly.

He cringed. "Of course it would be twice painful. It's my instrument, silly girl."

"Exactly."

They sat in silence, his body started to relax when she placed her hand on top of his that was holding the gun. He stiffened as she brought that hand to her face.

She let the cool metal of the gun slide her cheeks and to her ear.

He tried retracting the gun from her face, but her hands gripped his tightly. She closed her eyes and inched her face toward him. Her cool lips met his stiff ones. Slowly, he started to relax and return her kiss. Her one hand slid down his arm, the other still trained over his hand holding a gun, poised at her head.

The kiss grew deeper as he slid his arm around her waist. His tongue lightly licked her lower lip as he sought entrance. She complied, opening her mouth.

He then felt hot tears sliding down his cheek, realizing it was not his own, but hers.

He vaguely felt her fingers sliding from his hand, to his gun… tracing the contours of the gun, then to the trigger.

Remember when people say that you see your life in fast forward before you die? He saw hers. Then, before he could pull his hand away, his vision turned blinding white as he caught a glimpse of her life.

And the second time that night, he heard a bang, louder than the first.

_It would be like hide and seek…_

_Only, she would be hiding for a very, very long time._

**Author's Notes: Did she shoot herself, or didn't she? Hahaha I don't know either. I MIGHT update this. But for now, imagine.**


	10. Quitting

Author's Notes: Got this idea from one episode in Entourage

**Author's Notes: Got this idea from one episode in Entourage.**

**Quitting**

This was one of those times where she just wished that she didn't have lungs to begin with.

She breathed heavily through her nostrils trying to suck in all smoke inside the bar, ignoring that second-hand smoking is actually more perilous than having to smoke the cancer stick first handedly.

She released her breath, not wanting to the moment she sucked in all that smoke in, and groaned as her fingers clutched the hair near her scalp and did an impudent yelp as she banged her head on the bar's countertop. She was sure that this is going to be the death of her. Not the lung cancer (which she was sure she still had ample time to avoid it, unfortunately), but the addiction that lies behind it.

She could hear a soft chuckle amidst the soft humming of the jazz band on stage. She looked on her right to see a man's profile, his lips hidden behind the glass of whiskey as he sipped leisurely. She frowned at him, finding absolutely nothing funny about her present predicament. Although she had to admit, the man with silver hair was dreadfully handsome with his white V-neck shirt under that well-tailored coat. She didn't look so bad herself, she thought defended. She thought she looked cute wearing her all-black ensemble of turtle neck, boots, jeans and trench coat. Very Vogue-material she had to say so herself.

She wondered mildly if he smokes as she caught a glimpse of his cherry red lips that enclosed over the glass. _If he is, _she thought, _I would most likely French the guy._

"Hey," she called out to the man lazily, her cheek placed over her palm and she looked at him drunkenly (despite the absence of alcohol on her side of the counter). His eyes slightly swept to her, amused gray orbs acknowledging her to continue.

"Do you smoke?"

He didn't answer for a while and she just shrugged off her question not really expecting him to answer an addictive purple-haired girl.

"I've tried quitting. But right now, I still do." She looked back at him, eyes slightly bigger. She was surprised he answered her. She was also surprised that his voice sounded nice.

"Yeah? Me too."

He smirked, "So I've noticed."

Her eyes slanted together at that, "Hey, this ain't exactly a joy ride. Quitting could actually be the worst thing that could happen to anyone right now." She grumbled.

He only hummed as he took another sip from his whiskey. Her eyes subtly followed back to his lips, unconsciously biting her own lip in response.

"Hey do you have a ciggie?" she suddenly blurted out, her eyes darting back to his amused ones.

"I thought you were quitting?"

"I thought I said I didn't want to."

"Oh you did?" he was teasing her!

"I was implying it!" She gritted out. She was getting frustrated now. All she wanted was a ciggie. How bad is it? In medical terms, it's _very _bad. But trust me, that's the last thing on her mind right now.

He gingerly placed back his glass of whiskey on the countertop and leaned towards her. "Let's have a deal," a sly smirk was tugging on his lips as she leaned forward as well.

"What deal?"

"We can start quitting now. I have a lone stick of Marlboro here," he carefully took out the cancer stick from his breast pocket and started waving it in front of her. She didn't even know she bit her lip as she eyed over her current unhealthy obsession. He was surprised that he noticed.

"Yeah sure," she took out her Zippo from her pocket when a thought fleeted over her. "Wait, _we_?"

She looked back at the Marlboro that was now being brought to his lips, and now was tilting towards her to light it up.

"Oh, right," she mumbled as she fumbled over her lighter. She lighted up the stick for him and looked hungrily at the stick as he inhaled deeply. She failed to notice his equally hungry eyes as he watched her eyes fluttered to a half-close as he slowly exhaled the smoke leisurely. He slowly took the cigarette from his lips and handed over to her which she gingerly accepted.

She was happily breathing in the cig through her mouth when he asked. "I believe I didn't catch your name." She pushed away the thought of him being a moldy pervert of a bastard with his lame I-want-to-know-your-name line, since he was nice enough to give up his only heavenly stick to paradise. She answered as she blew out the smoke from her mouth, "Fuuko Kirisawa. You?" she handed out the stick from him and before bringing it to his lips, he answered, "Tokiya Mikagami."

She hummed in return as she went back to her original position of leaning the side of her cheek on her palm. There was a satisfactory look on her face, "Well Mi-chan, thank you for your generosity. I'll have you know that this made quitting much easier for me."

He scoffed out the smoke from his mouth as he handed out the cig to her, "You mean for us. I've been trying to quit since the first time I had it back in college. I'm just relieved that someone would join me in quitting."

There was something jubilant about her laugh that his eyes lightly softened. "College, really?" she took out a puff, "I had it when I first met my boss. Trust me; I was borderline crazy at that time. This," she looked back at the Marlboro that was burning up to the middle, "actually saved me from insanity." She handed it back to him.

"And this," he added, "saved me before _and _after our thesis presentation." She laughed, her head throwing back slightly. It made him proud, in a way, that he could make her laugh at such an unconventional place and time, in such odd circumstances.

"Yeah, yeah. I know _exactly _what you mean." She replied, taking the stick from him.

There was silence while she was inhaling the cigarette. His eyes trained over her, daintily cradling the stick in between her fingers, legs crossed, cheeks red, her hair in tasteful disarray, and her surprisingly pink lips. He was kind of relieved that her lips didn't seem to darken from smoking. And he was sure enough that her teeth were white when he saw her laugh.

"Do you mind?" she was talking to him when he snapped out of it. He looked in between her and the stick held by her fingers.

"No, go ahead." He motioned her. She elegantly brought it back to her lips, and with a long drag, she crushed the cigarette butt on the ash tray.

And that's when he knew, that was the end of conversation.

XOXO

It wasn't because they weren't friendly, but they just had an unspoken agreement that that was the end of their telltale chat. I mean, it was just a conversation over one cigarette, what else could it mean? She would like to think that she kissed him (although indirectly) because of that cigarette, and she can't say that she's the least disappointed that she didn't actually French kissed the nicotine from his lungs at her first thought of him, but she was kind of happy that way.

It would kind of ruin their momentary friendship that they established over their short smoking session.

So they never talked after that.

They just exchanged nods as she stood up from her stool before leaving the pub, and that was it.

Both seemed happy of where they left their monotonous and temporary friendship at the ashtray anyway.

XOXO

As she stepped out of the club, she brought her trench coat to a close to shield herself from the cold night and was about to make her way to the pavement to hail a taxi, when cold fingers held her wrist backward.

She looked back at the man holding her wrist, and was surprised to find Tokiya behind her.

He was lightly panting, she noticed. He chased after her?

He took a deep breath, "Did you know that coffee is the next best substitute to smoking?"

Her lips tugged upward, "Is that an invitation?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. But if you don't want it that way, just pretend it's like our agreement a while ago." There was something coy about his proposal that it made her smile. Without saying another word, she walked to his side and simultaneously, strolled with him to the nearest coffee shop in town.

This time, they weren't working on quitting. They were both sure of it.

**End.**

**Author's Notes: No, I don't smoke. **

**Review!**


	11. Coin

_Heads, I talk to him._

_Tails, I walk away._

She relentlessly played with the coin on her hand, scratching it along the edges and twirled it in between her fingers but she would _not_ toss it. She wasn't sure if she would want to know the answer.

She felt so _stupid_. She was so sure that the day she entered college – her dream university – she was going to stay out of everything that's complicated and that included anything related to romance at the very top of her list. College was her one chance of redeeming herself and actually make herself proud. That's why she worked so hard senior year during high school just so she could make up for the past years when she wasn't sure of what she wanted with her life. Senior year was the year when she knew she didn't want to stay so behind.

Now she's in Tokyo University where every student was at _least_ above average among all the other students, and she feels like she's so below everyone else because of how stupid she felt.

She really didn't want to be involved. She _really, really, really _didn't. But it was _hard_. She made it through freshman all throughout junior year without a hitch. She was alone, she studied hard, she got good grades. That was how she wanted to spend her whole time in college and she knew head-on that sacrificing her social life was going to pay off the moment she graduates. _Now_ that she's about to graduate is when everything gets to be complicated.

She wanted nothing more than to drown her head in the foot-high fountain at her back.

_Why must he be so complicated?_

It was one class, one semester. And he had her pining for him the rest of the year. _What was wrong with her?_ Was she so deprived of boys that one boy could twist her head in a frenzy with just the thought of him? That was just beyond and below her.

It was Philosophy class during the first semester during her senior year. Almost everybody knew everyone in the class. She knew a few people, knew more faces, but she didn't know _him_. She sat at the front chair by the door, just as she always had in all of her classes for an easy exit. He sat on the far left of the room, one row behind. She should not have noticed him, but it was difficult not to. He had that aura around him that was difficult to miss, plus he was exceptionally attractive but that was not all that she noticed. He looked right at her a couple of times, and she just knew he was different.

A few weeks have past until the professor has finally come up with a class project that required everyone to participate as a group. The two of them were voted to be one of the facilitators, so it was necessary for them to exchange numbers just so they could keep in touch.

The project only lasted for a couple of days, but they were just getting started to know one another quite thoroughly.

They talked frequently before and after Philosophy. On common breaks, they would meet up in the cafeteria and spend lunch together. On weekends, one would invite the other for a movie or play the latter most likely be a requirement for a particular subject. On most cases, they just met up to try out a new restaurant or just hang around in one's dorm room with takeouts.

They had a great time together. Fantastic. Almost… romantic.

That thought alone scared her. She knew she was above the age to have a boyfriend. She was legal, and in fact her mother would badger her incessantly about it each time she comes home. She just said that she never had the time and no one really asked her.

The latter was more of a lie. She knew when a guy was throwing hints at her; she just didn't have the time for them. He was different.

They were both standing on safe grounds when it came to friendship. That's all they really were from the start. Friends. But she just wasn't sure if that's all she ever wanted it to be. That was two weeks ago.

Right now she's pretty sure she wanted to be more than friends. And that even scared the living daylights out of her. She just thought that he wasn't the type to be in relationships. He had the same ideals as her that's why they found great comfort in each other. They understood.

Not until she started realizing that he has become part of her routine. The morning walk to school, lunch breaks, Philosophy class, coffee breaks at night, weekends at each other's dorm room, late night calls. It disturbed her how much she was looking forward to see him everyday. She didn't mind it at first, until towards the end of the semester the routine was slowly being stripped away.

There were less walks in the morning, less lunch breaks, coffee was limited to just by the vending machine, weekends were occupied by studying for the finals, and Philosophy class was just reduced to just mere stolen glances across the room.

Since college she has grown to be quite the reclusive person. He once mentioned that he was always like that.

It's already the second semester and almost graduation. Interaction with him has become sparse during the semestral break up until the present, but he never fails to send in necessary holiday greetings and how are you's once in a while.

She had really hoped that they were really going to be great friends. Timely too, seeing that they were both graduating that year and they had little to risk. Now, that would just be harmless. What was more scary was that she hoped for something more.

He probably have sensed that so he took a few steps back.

She just swore that she could just pulverize the coin in her hand.

And before she could delve in any further with her thoughts, she saw him walk towards her spot by the fountain, taking in confident strides looking as handsome as ever and she could just feel her heart break.

She gave what she meant to be a welcoming smile which probably turned out to be a wince.

She was going to flip the coin.

_Heads, I talk to him._

_Tails, I walk away._

He sits beside her and she resists the urge to hold his hand.

_Tossing the coin is more than just settling the question for you._

He takes a moment before taking a deep breath and finally looking at her almost fearfully eyeing the flipping coin.

_It's when the coin is in the air…_

He notices her catch her breath as she catches the coin in her palm.

_You finally know what you're hoping for. _

She smiles at him relieved, and he thought of all those days he wished they could be more than just friends.

"Have you ever thought of the two of us?" she asks with a brave smile.

He takes a moment as he felt for his heart.

"Everyday."

**Author's notes: True story with a few modifications. Except the last part. We still don't talk, unfortunately. **


End file.
